


everything in your world

by seaswept



Category: DC Cinematic Universe
Genre: Emotional Constipation, Multi, Polyamory, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 06:05:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13607127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaswept/pseuds/seaswept
Summary: the journey to them,in Bruce's point of view.





	everything in your world

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girlsarewolves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlsarewolves/gifts).



> I apologize for the choppy scenes. I haven't written fic in a while.
> 
> title from Sam Smith's "Say It First"

Clark’s death is still something he sees in his nightmares, mangled into fragments--The kryptonite spear, the flash of Diana’s gauntlets, the marble pallor of Superman in the arms of Lois Lane. It was a wake up call for Bruce. Looking after Martha Kent and Lois after everything was the least he could do.

“Did you set up a meal plan delivery service for me?” It had been just about six months since the funeral. 

“It seemed more practical than a bouquet. You haven’t been going out to eat and your grocery deliveries have been lacking.” He wasn’t going to mention her reluctance to get back to work for The Planet nor that he had left the flowers for Mrs. Kent who would appreciate them more.

“Vicki Vale told me you’re a fan of roses. Did Arthur Curry not pan out?” Lois seemed less exhausted when she could focus on issues adjacent to her own, case in point, the search for the metahumans. She was the one to direct him to Iceland when the last of Amana Waller’s leads went cold in Canada. Curry had a knack for avoiding cameras, not unlike Victor Stone.

Bruce knew it wasn’t the healthiest option for her to obsess over, but he couldn’t cast stones over how to grieve a loss any more than he could tell her to stop trying to help him. 

“Sending roses to Vicki Vale was the polite thing to do.” It’s an afterthought, as he starts an email to Dick, confirming a patrol route between Bludhaven and the new Kord Industries construction. Lois laughs abruptly like she didn’t expect to find the comment funny at all.

“And we’re past polite, since you just admitted looking into my grocery list.” It’s sharp, reminding Bruce that he oversteps more often than not, asking forgiveness over permission when it comes to his allies. He doesn’t forget that strange hallucination of his, back when this whole thing started. _She’s the key._ It’s at the back of his mind constantly when talking to Lois, who refuses to be treated like the widow of a fallen hero. 

“Bruce,” He stops, giving her his full attention, “come over sometime, _in person_. Give Alfred a break and I’ll try making whatever complicated organic dinner they send me. You’ll have to be polite and bring a wine pairing.”

“There are instructions. It’s supposed to be easy.” He doesn’t remind her it’s a delivery for one person.

Lois sighs, as if he’s missed the point. “I know, but you’ve never seen me cook.” 

 

He’s familiar with fear. 

It rushes through him in the moment between hanging in the grasp of Superman and Lois getting out of the car. Blood and bile struggle to rise above the hold of Clark's fist, but he sees the transformation. The key to Clark's lost mind is Lois Lane. He's thrown aside as Lois is swept away. Bruce shuts his eyes to categorize the pains calling for immediate attention.

"Something is definitely bleeding."

The room is part of an offshoot of the cave, not actually part of the Manor. Alfred insisted on the small comfort on days Bruce couldn’t manage to bring himself to the house. His shoulder is dislocated and with Diana’s help, is relocated. He makes a fist, wiggles his fingers, rotates to make sure nothing else has gone wrong. 

“You’re worried,” Diana observes, “about Superman?” There’s a bare hint of reproach that Bruce accepts gracefully after seeing her reservations in action with a less-than-stable resurrected Clark putting them through the ringer.

“Not really. Lois is only human." It echoes what Diana had insinuated about the time he had left. He doesn't voice any other concerns on his mind, beginning and ending with Steppenwolf and the fate of the world if Clark wasn't able to join them in time. Abstract guilt gnawed at him still.

“There is steel in her,” Diana remarks with the same tone she uses to reference her hazy past. It vexes him in small ways, to not know, to keep digging and not find some neat story pieced together by his supercomputer and good old detective work. He’s surrounded by reminders of how he could do better, from Jason's old suit to the metahumans he's trying to work with currently.

“How do you know?” 

“You must, to love someone like Clark.” She smiles, and he wonders again what sort of man Steve Trevor was.

 

“Are you really going to let them re-decorate your whole house?” Clark watches Lois and Diana talk in the once family parlor. Lois is wildly gesturing to the ceilings while Diana looks fond and contemplative in equal measure. Clark is still confused on how exactly they had become friends beyond a hurried explanation before being forced to ferry Lois to Wayne Manor-slash- headquarters to the newly minted Justice League.

“I don’t think I can stop them. Alfred knows what I want to keep and update.” Clark looks dubious.

“How hasn’t he quit, or filed a complaint against you?” Keeping metahumans busy and building helmets to withstand the force of a grenade were a far cry from his list of duties under Thomas and Martha, but Bruce was grateful to have some constancy in the ever-changing world.

“I think he’s waiting for me to retire or for biological grandchildren.” He quips. Clark’s expression goes from bewildered to shuttered in an instant. Lois, in some prenatural sense of Clark’s emotional ups and downs turns to smile at him. Bruce doesn’t have to be a genius to connect the dots. Lois still has the engagement ring on her hand, but beyond that was everything was suspiciously quiet.

Bruce was careful to monitor Superman after the resurrection via Motherbox, but Clark he left in Lois’ care. 

“Alfred is quite the optimist then.” Bruce doesn’t quite smile, but there’s a want to do so.

“He prefers ‘romantic’. I prefer hopeless.” Clark cocks his head like he’s listening to something beyond the Manor before shedding the concentration for a bright toothy grin.

"I don't think you do actually." The piercing glance isn't filtered through his terrible disguise of glasses nor his mild-mannered act and Bruce remembers in some distant part of himself that lying to a Kryptonian should be considered very carefully. He knew how to circumvent a polygraph, but the walking, talking one in front of him was a different story.

"Has Lois decided on the sabbatical yet?" He had offered his private plane, musing it had to be more comfortable than a trip via Superman. Lois had cracked up. Clark had offered him a lift to his next board meeting in China.

"No, Perry is tenacious and still thinks Lois is planning to move to the _Herald_." The slight disgust on Clark's face is amusing if not for the fact that Bruce has some shares in Gotham's paper.

"More reason to ask for a paid vacation. I can look into what the counteroffer would be at the Herald if she wants to make the threat credible." Clark shrugs in response.

"It's already credible. Lois has been getting offers since, well, since she took a break. I'm sure every major paper has given her a standing offer besides the one in National City."

Bruce feels simultaneously disappointed at not knowing and proud of Lois for having the options open to her as a journalist.

"And your cover story? Is it working out?" Clark grimaces.

"It's...a work in progress. You think if I grow a mustache I could just fake another identity?"

Bruce stares for a moment before replying, "I didn't think you could grow facial hair. It would've been a better disguise than _glasses_." The comment draws out a laugh from Clark. 

"I know. You should ask Lois about the first time we met. I had a beard then."

From what Bruce had pieced together from the time before Clark came into Lois' life, and the handful of conversations he had with Martha, Clark had wanted to be anonymous while trying to find a place in the world and do good. It strikes him in that moment, that Clark hadn't picked something better than glasses because he had known who he was by that point.

If Bruce was a different sort of person, he would wonder what would've happened if they had met under different circumstances.

 

It’s a marvel at the changes that are wrought to the Manor by simply living in it. Bruce still prefers his penthouse or the house he moved into after establishing himself, but even with only the occasional visit from the rest of the team, it has a different air. 

“Is Master Drake going to be joining us this evening?” Alfred asks in full view and in the hearing range of Lois who was lounging on the chaise, working on an article about a rumoured spree of killings that was being covered up in the north. 

She sat up, waiting for his response. He could practically see the tally of how many questions she could get away with until Bruce decided to leave her to her own devices in the living room.

“Your ward is back from his trip?” She was very suspicious at the timing of Tim’s trip with Dick after Victor had mentioned he had met his adopted brood on a mission. Bruce had very carefully mediated Lois’ introduction to Dick in his civilian persona which went exactly as he expected: Dick’s penchant to flirt with danger and Lois’ unholy glee at taking down anyone who only saw her looks and not her brains met for a memorable lunch. 

“Yes, to both questions.” Alfred leaves with a satisfied smirk and nary a word. He’s starting to suspect Lois had somehow gained his trust over arguing about mid-century paintings and chandeliers.

“Will I finally meet this kid or should I add it to the list of grievous wounds against my person by Bruce Wayne?” She used that joke before, after telling Diana how they originally met for an interview with disastrous results. 

“Depends on if you’re staying for dinner.” He lifts an eyebrow in question. Clark was taking long putting out fires in California. 

“Of course I am, I can’t miss Alfred’s shepherd’s pie.”

He knows when Tim’s arrived by the sheer amount of noise that erupts in the Manor. It’s practically chaotic after the relaxed atmosphere of the day. He steps out of his study to find Tim speeding down the hall with a red face. 

“I know you said you remodeled but give a guy a warning when there are half-naked guests around. It’s dinner-time, does Alfred know?” He stage-whispers the last part. It was an unspoken rule, especially when Tim was younger that Bruce would take his dates out to dinner instead of inviting them back to the house. 

“Half-naked?” He’d have to apologize to Lois for Tim barging into her guest room. 

“Yeah, I didn’t know you were into buff guys. I mean I knew about-- anyway, should I try the ‘are you going to be my new step-mom’ routine for old time’s sake or would that be awkward?” 

Bruce tackles the immediate problem first, holding onto the knowledge of his sexual orientation for later. 

“No, because that would be rude and Alfred probably likes Lois more than he likes you at this point.” Tim looks affronted before squinting at him.

“He would never. It’s not my fault someone wanted me to spend spring break away from Gotham after one parademon gave me a scratch.” Tim rolls his eyes before something dawns on him and he stops in his tracks.

“Wait, Lois, as in Lois Lane? _The_ Lois Lane?” They go down two flights before Bruce hears him mutter something about tastes and Dick being a clone.

They find the table set with Clark and Lois already seated, talking quietly over a tablet that probably had notes on it. Tim clears his throat because Bruce wouldn’t ever give up the advantage of being silent regardless of super hearing. They look up in unison. Lois’ hair is damp and gathered up by a pen while Clark was in his regular garb of flannel and jeans.

“Sorry for the intrusion earlier, Miss Lane.” Tim puts his manners to good use, extending a hand to both of them.

“I’m Tim Drake.” Clark stands up to reach across Lois and shake Tim’s hand.

“Clark Kent, nice to meet you, Tim.” Tim’s eyes lit up in recognition.

“Oh.” He turned to Bruce in exasperation. “Why didn’t you tell me we were going to have dinner with Superman?” 

Lois snorts. Bruce certainly didn’t miss getting the rug pulled from under his feet constantly with Tim around. 

“Should I have worn the glasses?” He’d gotten into the habit of not wearing them in the Manor but carrying them in the pockets of his work shirts like an old man. Bruce was surprised Clark hadn’t shown up to dinner with the glasses. Lois had to have told him about Tim. Even if they had been distracted by other activities.

Tim shrugged, “No, you look better without them. I figured out you were Superman in my bio lab last semester.”

 

Diana doesn’t kiss him after another universe-threatening mission, or after the fundraising banquet for the world wars exhibit coming to Gotham permanently, nor did she kiss him after he officially adopts Tim. She kisses him shortly after the devastation of his formerly-dead ward is cleared, hours before his birthday. 

“Why?” He asks.

Diana searches his face for a moment, before she lays a hand on his cheek. 

“Why did you let him wound you?” It had started with a strange threat on Bruce and Tim getting kidnapped. Clark and Diana decided to stay close, even when Bruce insisted on the opposite. The Red Hood hadn’t been fixated on the team, just him and Tim by extension. 

“Because he was right,” He closes his eyes heavily, not leaning into her palm, merely hovering between surrendering to the exhaustion and guilt he feels, and putting this all behind him somehow.

“No, Bruce, why did you not stop him when you could have?” Diana’s voice is soft, drowned out by the wrath of Jason’s screaming in his memory. _You should’ve. He took me away from you and you did nothing._ He sighs out everything bruised in him.

“He was my responsibility.” He had cared. He still did, even if he didn’t recognize this particular Jason or he recognizes too much of what’s in him.

“Just as you are ours and we to you. Let us help you, Bruce.” She lets her hand fall to her side. He catches it with his, holding her hand loosely, giving her the chance to let go.

She held on.

“Okay,” it’s solemn, like a promise.


End file.
